The California Club (31 page)

'Your face!' I offer.

He breaks into a grin. 'If I had any sense I'd challenge Elliot to a duel and win you for myself.' Then he adds sadly, 'But I don't.'

'It's alright,' I tell him, feeling I understand even though I'm only guessing at why he's like he is. 'We're just making the most of the here and now. And I'm loving every second.'

It's funny how some people come into your life so intensely and yet so briefly. Of course I don't want this to be all, I don't want to say goodbye today and then for us never to see each other again, but there's something finite about Joel. Something that says, Don't get too close. Make the most of me now because I can't make any promises. And that's fine. At least it's fine right now because I'm with him. I'm not sure how I'll feel when the time comes for him to leave.

Two hours later we're in Cholame, pausing beside the memorial marking the spot where James Dean crashed his Porsche Spyder in 1955. I'm just musing over the fact that tomorrow I'll be the same age as him – thirty – when Joel reminds me I promised to speak to Elise today.

'Do I have to?' I whine.

'You never know, she could be bequeathing Elliot to you,' Joel suggests. 'You said she sounded a bit wobbly.'

'I think it was just wishful thinking. Hey! Maybe you could seduce her and leave Elliot free for me?' I give Joel an 'Oh go on.’ look.

'I don't do charity cases,' he retorts.

'You did me!'

'You were an honor and a privilege.'

'Really?' I beam.

'Call her.'

I dial her number and humph a 'Hello?' into the receiver.

'Oh Lara! Can we speak later? Only the Ho'oponopono class is about to start!'

I frown. She's either turned sarcasm to an art form or is expressing genuine interest in self improvement. That can't be right.

'Come again?'

'Ho'oponopono,' she repeats as if I'm being deliberately dim. 'It's the ancient Hawaiian art of problem-solving. Apparently you can heal hurtful memories without having to replay them.'

I wonder why she's in such a hurry to get there. I see Elise as the kind of person who inflicts hurt on other people rather than receives it. What memory is she hoping to zap?

'It starts in five minutes,' she whines. 'I don't want to miss neutralizing the negative energies.'

'Of course not – off you go!'

I'm incredulous. And a little bit afraid. I want to hate Elise. I need to hate Elise. But it's very hard to despise people who are trying to better themselves. Oh no! What if she's developing into this angelic being and just when Elliot is having doubts she's going to reveal her new glowy-pure side and he'll fall in love with her all over again? I can't bear it!

I switch off the phone so she can't call back, and mantra 'Blossom, blossom, blossom' to myself, trying to recapture my former sense of hope and wonder but with Elise presiding over my thoughts the silken petals wither to a brown pulp.

Finally we arrive in LA.

'I think we'll take the surface streets so you can see a bit of city,' Joel decides, coming off the freeway early. 'Everyone says there's no center to Los Angeles but I'd say this is the closest thing – you've got Farmer's Market and The Grove right here, and the Beverly Center mall is just down there,' he points to our left and then turns down a quiet residential street.

'The houses are so pretty!' I gasp. 'And so different,' I note as we progress – Spanish-style haciendas next to mock French château with pointy turrets, Walton-style shacks with sunny porches facing twee balconies with Hansel & Gretel cookie-cut woodwork, one place ablaze of Moroccan blue paintwork. Others are just grey motel-like blocks though some have authentic Fifties lettering and star motifs that put me in mind of
Bewitched
.

'Give me Zoë's address again?' Joel prompts.

I read the slip of paper to him. The door locks click simultaneously.

'It said Hollywood that way,' I point back to the sign we just passed.

'She's not in Hollywood.'

'But—'

'She works there, I know, but it’s not where she lives.'

‘Where we’re going, is it bad?'

'Decide for yourself.'

All too soon the pretty houses are replaced by seedy-looking apartments and the chipper souls walking their dogs become bandana'd youths.

'Are we in gangland?' I shiver.

'Gangland adjacent, I think would be the estate agent's term,' Joel grimaces.

I tell myself it's bohemian. 'I bet a lot of arty types live here.'

'It's certainly cheaper to rent round here,' Joel looks on the bright side. 'What number are we looking for?'

'722,' I tell him.

'Should be 911,' he mutters.

'This is it!' I peer up at the kind of brick building I'd expect to find in New York. No glittery cement here.

'I'll come with you.' Joel escorts me to the door and scans the streets for potential sources of trouble as I jab the doorbell. I ring and ring but no reply.

'Try her at work,' Joel suggests.

'Lara!' Zoë answers out of breath. 'I tried to call you but I couldn't get through!'

That'll be Elise's fault, I forgot to switch the phone back on.

They've changed my shift – I have to work till 6pn., there's no getting out of it,' Zoë humphs.

'Don't worry – well, it's a bummer for you, but I can easily amuse myself.'

'Where are you now?'

'At your apartment.'

Silence.

‘Zoë?'

'Isn't it cool?' she blusters. 'It's a really up-and-coming neighborhood!'

'Don't you get scared here?' I grimace at the sound of someone's phlegm-tastic cough and a car backfiring. I hope.

'Oh no! It's all about keeping it real. There's loads of celebs in the area.'

A man in a hairnet and fiendish moustache eyes us suspiciously as he exits the building. I can't even imagine who Zoë might mistake him for.

'I think I'll come back over Hollywood way,' I stammer, daunted by the prospect of having to stay here with her tonight. This is not the LA we had envisioned. Maybe we could just check into the Viceroy for the next two nights, I hear it's intimidatingly fashionable – that's the level of discomfort I'm prepared to experience, not this!

'You have to go to Fredericks of Hollywood Lingerie Museum,' Zoë busily plans my afternoon's itinerary. 'Boris told me about it – they've got those fluffy Fembot négligés from Austin Powers and Ava Gardner's gorgeous nightie from Showboat and Tom Hanks' boxers from Forrest Gump!'

'Okay!' I intervene.

‘The best bit is the undie catalogues from the Fifties – they had blow up bras called Belle Air and there's one called Tidal Wave that you could wear under swimwear—'

'Yup, I'll definitely—' I try to cut her short. I don't think Joel's enjoying the scenery.

'Ooh! And they've even got Tony Curtis's female body shaper from
Some Like It Hot
and it's so funny cos the bra straps are fixed with those clips you get on braces instead of hooks – you know how useless men are at undoing—'

'Zoë!' I yell.

'What?'

'I've got to go. I'll just get Joel to drop me—'

'Joel!' Zoë cuts in. 'He's with you?'

'Yes!'

'Well, then I guess you don't need any tips on how to entertain yourself!’

‘Actually he's got to go to a meeting,' I blush. 'But he can take me to a car rental place and then I'll whiz over.'

'Did you two …?'

I know exactly what Zoë is getting at but Joel is within listening distance.

'Yes, that's right,' I try to sound formal instead of gossipy.

'And?'

'Spectacular!' I cheer.

Zoë cackles with glee. 'You can tell me everything later!'

'I'll pick you up at the diner at 6pm,' I conclude.

I flip the phone closed and turn to Joel. His face is still filled with disdain for Zoë's accommodation.

'Do you girls have plans for tonight?' he asks as we return to his car, which amazingly still has all four wheels.

'I don't think so,' I shrug. 'Why?'

'Oh, I just thought of something you might enjoy. I'll have to make a couple of calls but if you like I could meet you at the diner later?’

‘Sounds perfect!' I'm so relieved this isn't goodbye just yet. I was starting to get pangs of resistance at the idea of being parted from him.

'Okay. Let's get you hooked up with a car.'

Somehow Joel manages to talk the car rental clerk into upgrading me to a convertible. I can't believe my luck. It seems a waste to just go a few blocks to Hollywood. I want to fly down a freeway! I take out the map and study it. I've got four hours. I shouldn't really go further than an hour away … Santa Monica is meant to be nice, or what about Hermosa Beach? Palm Springs is that little bit too far. Hold on – what if I went and surprised Sasha? I get a sudden rush of high spirits. Why not? She could do with a boost, I'm sure. Zoë and I have got two whole days to see the sights in LA. And if Ty would let her take a break I could help her with the Project Paradise fundraiser. I'm sure something must need decorating.

I put my foot down and floor it. After watching Joel drive I'm getting the hang of sailing through yellow and turning right on red, and when I get on the freeway I speed-weave willy-nilly as good as the rest of them. I can't wait to see the look on Sasha’s face when I stroll in!

However. Things don't go quite according to plan. When I arrive at Tiger Tiger the place is deserted. The cats are unattended and there's no one in the kitchen. I try Sasha's bedroom door. Locked.

I give it a knock.

A terrified voice calls, 'Go away!'

'Sasha!' I lean closer. 'Is that you?'

Suddenly there's a scrambling to the door and she drags me inside, swiftly locking the door behind me.

'What's going on? Did Freddie get out? Why are you crying?'

I take in her sob-stained face and juddering breaths.

'It's Ty,' she hiccups. 'He's totally trashed, I don't know what to do.'

I guide her to a seat, trying to calm her.

'Nina's gone to the vets and I'm the only one here.'

In the background I hear the sound of glass smashing and some male swearing.

‘What was that?' I panic.

'He must be in the kitchen now.' Her eyes widen.

There's another crash – it sounds like the cutlery drawer being yanked asunder.

I have one thought – he's going for a knife.’

My first instinct is to call the police.

'You can't!' Sasha stops me. 'He'd get in so much trouble with Carrie.'

'But—'

'And what if word got out? The fundraiser is in three days. Who'd come to a place where there's a madman on the loose?'

'This is America,' I remind Sasha. 'Anyone who's ever been in the studio audience for Jerry Springer would be here like a shot!' I pause for a moment. 'Maybe that's the hook you've been looking for – we could put Ty in one of the cages.'

'He's just drunk,' Sasha defends him. 'It'll pass.'

'So you're just going to stay locked in a room until he sobers up?'

Sasha nods.

'What if I called Helen?'

'What can she do?'

'I'm sure The California Club must have some SWAT team that deal with emergencies like this.'

'Let's just wait,' Sasha pleads. 'Nina – you know, the volunteer girl? – she should be back later, I'm sure she can reason with him.'

'I haven't got that long, and besides I need a wee. I'm going to have to go out there.'

'No!' Sasha pulls me back.

Outside we hear shuffling-staggering down the corridor.

I sigh. There is one person I would like to consult with but it would mean asking Elise for help. I really do need to use the restroom so I dial her. She gets Martha straight away. I give her a whispered update on Ty-gate (with Sasha's sleeping bag over my head for extra soundproofing) and in return she tells me what she thinks the best plan of action would be. Starting with persuading him to drink a large mug of coffee.

Checking that the coast is clear, we make a dash for the kitchen, clinging on to each other for dear life. Frankly I'd rather let Freddie chew on my femur than face Ty in this state but it has to be done. I fill a mug with steaming caffeine and try and calm my hammering heart.

'I'll come with you.' Sasha moves to join me but I block her. Martha has convinced me that Sasha is the reason for Ty's drinking so it would only aggravate things.

'You stay here. Unless you hear him coming, in which case go back to the bedroom.'

'But what should I do?' Sasha looks forlorn.

'Make another pot of coffee,' I instruct her.

As I creak down the corridor towards Ty's room I dip my finger in the brew to assess it's scald-potential, just in case it gets thrown back in my face. (Second degree burns, I predict.) He's not in his hammock so I proceed to the back porch. There he sits, scrunched and rocking. I fear he could lash out at any time so I keep a safe distance as I announce my presence: 'Ty?'

He flicks around, ready to attack. 'What are you doing here?'

I've definitely got the element of surprise on my side.

'I brought you some coffee.' I try to sound casual, as if I've just returned from a two-day outing to Starbucks.

‘I don't need it, I got this,' he wavers a bottle of Jack Daniels in my direction. 'Want some?'

'Okay!' I say, deciding it's better off in my hands than glugging down his throat. I sit down beside him but not too close, unscrew the bottle top and drag out the simple process of taking a sip. I want to say, 'Are you okay?' but clearly he's not, so instead, heart pounding, I try what Martha told me and dive in with:

'Why are you so angry at yourself for finding Sasha attractive?'

His head jerks round and his eyes bore through me like a drill. Though I'm trembling inside I hold his gaze.

'If I did, which I don't, it would just make me as superficial as everyone else, which I'm not.'

I think for a moment. I am Dr Phil, I can do this. 'This dread of appearing superficial—'

'A pretty healthy trait, don't you think?' he says, defensively.

'Yes but I'm wondering if you're taking it a bit far,' I venture.